The Company of Wolves
by Scouse
Summary: His curse was broken, but its not over. Can Graham and a ragtag band of others who've escaped help break the curse from a very changed Enchanted Forest? Can Emma, Henry and some new allies continue with Operation Cobra?  AU fic
1. Prologue

**Title:** The Company of Wolves  
><strong>Author: <strong>inatrailoffire (on tumblr and twitter), or Scouse  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (subject to change)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None (as of yet, though there may be violence and language in later chapters)

**Pairings:** Emma/Graham, others to be confirmed.

**Status:** WIP

**Summary:** His curse was broken, but that doesn't mean its over. Can Graham and a ragtag band of others who've escaped the curse help break it from back in a very changed Enchanted Forest? Can Emma, Henry and some new allies for Operation Cobra carry on without him there?

**Notes:** I've been thinking and thinking over the idea for this fic for a good week now and its snowballed into a mass of other fairytale characters and stories and a tangled web of ficness. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it going.

~oOo~

**The Company of Wolves**

**Prologue**

Death was cold.

Bitterly so. The pain of it bit into the tips of his fingers and toes, seeped into the very marrow of his bones. But he was no stranger to pain, nor the cold. He'd suffered worse pain than this. He had _died _because of worse pain. His memory of that burning clench as his heart was shattered into dust was more fierce than the hurt wrought by chill and ice and thus the ache in his hands and feet concerned him little now. He was dead after all, what did a little more pain matter?

Death was also dark.

So dark that he wondered if his eyes were open or closed. Was he peering deep into the shadows collecting at the backs of his own eyelids? Was he struck blind now that he was but a shade in the afterlife, alone and adrift in the vast nothingness? He knew not. He tried to blink, to peer out through that thick dark but the afore mentioned cold had made his features numb and unresponsive; he could not tell if he were frozen solid or if this was just how things were when one breached death.

One thing that he certainly had not been expecting was the noise. Death, by all accounts, should've been silent and still. Pardon his pun, but it should have been _deathly_ so, and yet the creaking of wood, the snapping of branches, the whistle of a desolate and desperate winter wind was deafening almost, drowning out the last half-imagined half-remembered cries of a woman that wrenched in his heart like an arrow's head; snared, no matter how hard it was pulled in attempt to release it.

_Emma. _

The mere thought of her name made his chest clench and pull tight. _That_ pain was worse than the cold. Worse than that which had killed him and he squeezed his eyes shut again (if they had been open at all, that was), groaning against it, the sting of her name, her memory, the realisation that he would never see her again. That he'd left her -no, that he'd been stolen away- just when he'd found her. He'd not _wanted_ to leave. He would _never_ have wanted to leave...

It brought tears to his eyes; the bitterness of loss, the emptiness, the concern for her safety now that he knew, now that he _remembered_ everything. All released in a despair that welled and trickled a scalding trail from the corner of his eye, down the sides of his frost-bitten skin, dripping, falling against the shell of his ear before ending its sad life upon the unforgiving ground beneath him.

It took him long moments more before he realised that death did not have seasons or weather, did not have a howling wind that made the skeletal, naked limbs of forest trees rattle like bones from it's sheer force. It took him a lot longer than it should have to recognise that death did not smell comfortingly like bark and pine and snow heavy-laden in the clouds. It did not taste of mud and bog water. It did not feel like sodden soil beneath his palms and that seeped through his Sheriff's uniform.

Graham gasped a breath, choked on it as the icy air prickled at the back of his throat (hoarse from emotion and lack of use). His eyes shot wide and the darkness before him transformed, blearily, revealed itself to be the swaying of treetops of firs with needles so dark that they looked ebony. There was the odd flash of a steely sky beyond, glimpses snatched from between the clawing branches and, as he continued to blink and stare and squint through his confusion, flakes of snow fluttering their way down towards him.

~oOo~


	2. Chapter 1: Down by the Riverside

**shatteredfan: ****Oh, I know exactly how you feel…which is sort of why this fic has come about (that and a steady diet of sugar, Christmas and fairytales over the past couple of weeks! ;-) ) I feel that his character was far too important in the grand scheme of things to kill of this early in the series. There were so many ways that they could have gone. And while I still love the show and can't wait to see where they're going with this…I remember Lost and how many of may favourites they killed off there…and thus, ficcing again! Thanks for you're review, and hope you enjoy the first chapter. **

**pattersk: ****Thank you, Honey! Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! **

**Minny: ****Shucks, thank you! I agree with you whole-heartedly. He had so much more to add to the story. There were so many ways they co****uld have gone with someone believing Henry and even options to turn him evil / put him under another spell to keep him loyal to Regina before redeeming him *waves*. So many ways they could have gone other than death. But alas, its done now. Hope that you enjoy this chapter and that you for reviewing!**

**BeccabooO1O: ****Thank you, my dear! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**SpaceRoses: ****Thank you for your kind review! **** I just adore Emma/Graham, so rest assured, there will be lots more of that in this fic. How exactly that's going to work in the two different worlds, well, that'll be a big part of the story. I just hope that I can do it justice. Thank you for reading, Lovie, and hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the prologue!**

**A/N: Well, chapter 1 has turned out to be a bit longer than I first planned. Initially it was going to be another purely Graham / Fairytale Land chapter, but then a natural sort of break in the story occurred and rather than posting another chapter were actually not a lot happens, I decided to add in a bit of the "Real World", to set the scene for Emma and Henry. Hope that its not too disjointed. Comments are always welcome! **

~oOo~

**The Company of Wolves.**

**Chapter 1: Down by the Riverside.**

The mud was frozen for the most part. Dirt hard-packed and stone-like, smothered by the ice and snow and offering a solid -if a somewhat slippery- surface for his unsteady legs to travel across. But there were other parts of the forest floor -that his feet found when he was not looking down or paying attention- that were quagmireish. Full of peaty waters that sucked at his boots and ankles, trying to swallow him down into a boggish belly. As if Death himself were out to reclaim him for the grave…and perhaps he was. Graham had somehow cheated him out of another soul for the count after all.

He _should_ be dead and yet he wasn't; and that puzzled him. But, right then, he was far too cold -his mind fogged by it- to come to any sort of conclusion; rational or fantastical or otherwise. He would abandon any attempts at thinking on it until he figured out where the hell he was at least, and had found some sort of shelter against the biting, unrelenting wind that threatened a blizzard was not far off.

Oh, of course he'd realised that he was back in the Enchanted Kingdom a little while after he'd woken (blurry-eyed and reeling as if he'd drunk a skin-full the night before), once he'd regained enough sense and coherence to understand that he wasn't dead after all, but lying on his back in the depths of an unfamiliar part of the forest. There were no landmarks that looked even slightly familiar, and whether that was because he just didn't _remember_ this place after being saturated with Storybrooke, with cars and diners and technology, he could not tell.

Despite his disorientation, there was a distinctly familiar taint to the air. A sharpness that spiked through his senses, that laced through the wind, thrilling with magic, making the hairs upon the back of his neck prickle and rise in a manner that had nothing to do with the cold and how it made him shiver. It was comforting and strange in the same instance. Yes, he had definitely returned 'home'…or at least the place that he had called home once…before…

The truth of it was that he wasn't entirely certain if he was grateful for being spared or not. He wasn't entirely sure if he wouldn't rather be back, curse and all, in Storybrooke. At least he had not been alone there. What was the point in it all? What was the point in him being alive and returned to the emptiness of the Enchanted Lands? What good was he here, while everyone else remained in Storybrooke? Was it his punishment? Perhaps he was dead after all and this was his hell.

His feet sank again suddenly, snared in the viscous ground and he went down (as he had upon a regular basis since first beginning his blind walking) like a sack of bricks; the breath leaving him in a sickly 'whoosh' that made his lungs feel leaden. And he lay still for a long moment, tired of the struggle to right himself yet again, his energy seeping from his limbs as fast as the cold crept in. His mind was running away with him again, pondering over the why's and the how's when he'd promised himself that he wouldn't. He needed to focus. His memories as Huntsman were still a sluggish unfurling in his brain, still slow in coming. He remembered, but he didn't quite understand a lot of it. The modern day man in him, who had lived 28 years in the other world, recoiled from being thrown head first back into nature. He wasn't cut out for this! But something primal in him told him to keep going, keep striving, that there was _some_ purpose for him. Told him that bogs and mires meant that he was getting closer to a source of water, and a source of water meant food at best, a stream or river to follow out of the forest at worst.

That was his plan for the moment then. Shelter. Food. Out of the forest. And after that? Well, that was enough to be getting on with for the moment.

His instincts having been correct, Graham reached the banks of what once had been a wide river -swathing it's way through the very heart of the forest- after an hour or so more of struggling through the undergrowth. It was frozen now, almost solid save for the very middle, where the current was no doubt strong and constant preventing the ice from forming for too long. He couldn't cross it at this point without plummeting through and into the water. The cold would certainly kill him then, whereas if he travelled further down the bank in search of a bridge it only _might_ kill him.

That drew a grim, humourless smirk up at the corner of his lips.

It had never before been this cold in the land of Fairytale. The wind had never howled so harsh and relentless, so cruelly. It only added more questions, more riddles to his list of the unanswered…

It was partially to stop thinking again and partially to keep moving, an attempt to keep warm, that he lurched back into motion abruptly, turning down river and quickening his pace to a jog now that there were thankfully no tree roots or sink-holes to trip him, hot breath leaving his lips in smoky plumes.

~oOo~

"I miss him."

Emma hastily swiped at her eyes with the heel of her free palm, the one not wedged vice tight beneath her elbow. She took a deep breath before she turned to the speaker.

Henry's own eyes were rimmed red and puffy, shimmering with the threat of more tears. He bit his lip to keep from crying though, perhaps for her sake, and moved across to where she stood in the shadow of the church, watching the group dressed all in sombre black.

Emma couldn't quite find voice to respond to him, but she nodded instead and squeezed his hand tightly -small, warm and comforting as it was- when Henry slipped it up into hers.

She'd not owned anything black…well, not anything suitable for a funeral anyway and Mary-Margaret was at least two sizes smaller than she was, despite batting away that point when Emma raised it and offering her a dress anyway. And so Emma had hung back where there was less chance of her being seen wearing her trademark red leather and jeans and knee-high boots. Somehow she was sure that Graham wouldn't have minded though. Hell, he probably would've seen it as more rebellion and grinned.

It almost made her chuckle. Almost. But it fell flat in the back of her throat before it could escape into the air, instead coming as something that sounded a good deal more strangled and tremulous and Henry turned his face into the sleeve of her arm as he heard it. They watched from afar the casket lowering down, down, six foot deep into the ground.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to happen," his voice was high with emotion and muffled by her arm, but Emma heard him anyway.

"No, it wasn't." she agreed. "But these things _do_ happen. We can't stop them." She paused for a breath, to quell the upset in her own voice before she continued. She was trying to make him feel better after all, not using him to offload her emotional baggage. "Dr. Whale said they did everything they could, but his heart-"

"No." Henry interrupted. She sensed him frowning, his fist tightened in hers as if he was angry. Kids dealt with things -traumatic things- in many different ways. If anger was Henry's way of coping, then she wasn't going to stop him. Let him get it out. Let him take it out on _her_, because damn but she felt like she deserved it.

"No," he repeated again. "Everything was supposed to get _better _when you came."

Ah. So _that_ was what this was about.

She opened her mouth, hesitant to say anything because she did not want her upset, her anger at Graham's death to come out seeming like it was aimed at Henry. None of this was his fault either and her days of coping through throwing around rage and blame were long behind her. So she hesitated a moment longer before offering a careful, "Maybe I'm not who you think I am, after all. Maybe I'm not the one who can break your curse."

That seemed to affect the boy worse than anything she could have said to him in anger and he shot back from her, hand leaving her grip as if she'd burned him. His frown wavered between desperation and desolation.

"Don't say that!" he snapped, arms clamped to his sides, fists balled. "Please, _please_, don't say that you don't believe again…"

Emma's heart clenched to see his face to contorted with emotions too numerous to name, it ached just as it ached for poor Graham and -selfishly- for what she'd lost not a few days before.

"Henry," it came as a sigh from her lips as she reached for him but there was another voice calling for him, breaking through the tension and their conversation, drawing their eyes up and towards her.

Regina came no closer to them than calling distance. Pointedly, she did not look at Emma.

"Better go, Kid." Emma muttered, she couldn't deal with the Mayor and her manipulation. Not today, she didn't have heart for it. Henry nodded once. "I'll see you soon?"

Again Henry only nodded, but he did hug her, crossing back across the space between him and wrapping his skinny arms as tightly as he could manage about her middle.

"We'll figure it out." He told the fabric of her shirt. "We'll figure it all out another day." When they were both stronger, he meant. Wise boy. "I'm sorry about Sheriff Graham."

And then he turned and ran away from Emma, back to Regina where her outstretched hand was waiting to grasp his shoulder securely when he did not take it in his own hand. She shepherded him into the waiting black mayoral car with it's tinted windows and high polished chrome and then they were gone.

Emma looked down at the small, wet patch that his tears had left on her, rubbed at it with the tips of her fingers as if that would dry it out and wipe away the pain that had caused them both. Her own tears started falling unhindered.

"Me too, Kid."

_Damn it, Graham…_

~oOo~

Graham jolted awake so suddenly that he felt as though he'd been shot. Eyes wide and immediately searching he scanned his surroundings (he'd settled down a little way inside the fringe of the forest in the hollow of a dead tree to keep out of the wind for the night), hunting for the source of his disturbance.

He could've _sworn_ that he'd heard his name…

The sound came again then, louder and closer than the one that had served to wake him and Graham froze. Perhaps it was merely an animal, lost and confused in the blizzard (that seemed thankfully to have blown itself out for the moment). Perhaps it was someone else, a survivor like him…

His eyes strained through the night and _damn_ but he wished desperately that there had been a moon out, or at the very least stars. His wishing was for naught however, besides which, their smell gave them away. A smell that even 28 years of modern-day living with soap and shower gel and aftershave could not erase.

They smelt of soil, musty and old, of stale air and clay and bone-dust. The kind of smell that clung to your clothes and skin after visiting a dead relative to lay flowers in their crypt. The kind of smell that you scrubbed your skin raw to remove. They smelt of the very bowels of the earth itself. They smelt of death and _that _was what told him that he'd been looking too high, that he'd been foolishly searching for something the size and shape of a man when these creatures were no kind or kin of men.

It didn't take his eyes long to seek them out after that.

"Goblins…"

~oOo~


	3. Chapter 2: Fiend and Foe

**JuliaAurelia: Thank you so much! It has indeed been affected greatly. By the curse and something else. The Evil Queen / Regina did leave a void to be filled…Thank you for reading!**

**SpaceRoses: Hello again! And thank you so much for continuing to read and review! I wanted to play a lot on how Graham was in episode 7, chasing after the wolf and ending up in the forest, following his instincts I guess. I'm glad that came across and its definitely something that I want to use as the story progresses. As for his relationship with Regina I definitely also want to touch on that too, if not in a scene with him and Regina together, definitely with someone else who is going to remind him a lot of that relationship. Hopefully, hopefully *crosses fingers* I can pull it off. I do love Henry and his relationship with Emma. I wanted to draw some comparisons with him and Emma's memory of her younger self, just a smidgen. He'll be back to his old bubbly self soon though. As for your last question, no Graham isn't able to hear Emma in Storybrooke, but that's not to say that there won't be communication at some point. *grins* Once more, thank you so much for reading and leaving such a lovely comment! Hope that you like the next part. **

**Blue: Thank you so much! I really, really wanted to make the Enchanted Forest seem almost like a wasteland, or at the least a shadow of what it once was. Hope that you like what's coming up!**

**RleFay: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I do love a good, healthy portion of angst. But I'm also a sucker for a happy ending. *grins* **

**A/N: So, I've written the next two chapters together so I may as well post them together. I'm hoping to get another couple written before I go back to work next week (boo work!) but after then I'll likely update of a weekend as much as I can. Hope that you all enjoy the next two chapters. First another Graham and second an Emma. Both meeting some new faces, one of which should be pretty easy to figure out who their fairytale persona is. *grins* Hope that you enjoy and as always, thank you for reading!**

**Gem**

**xxx**

**~oOo~**

**The Company of Wolves.**

**Chapter 2: Fiend and Foe.**

It was a well known fact throughout the Enchanted Forest that Goblins lived deep down in the depths of the earth; a subterranean other realm of sorts. Down where the air held an unnatural chill they carved their castles out of the rock itself. They hated to be warm, or so rumour had it, cold-blooded creatures that they were, with heads and feet as hard as the stones that they lived beneath. They had no need for helms or boots for they could crack a boulder with either. Their teeth grew like tusks from the corners of their wide mouths -toad-like and boarish in the same instance- and their skin was thick and leathery. A few goblin tribes from further north (where the weather outside was colder, and thus so was their home in the depths) even had scales; of blue or green or pewter grey.

They were smaller than their distant cousins, the Trolls. About three quarters the height of a man, but thicker-set also and a damn sight stronger. Even the a goblin-woman would have no trouble crushing a man's skull beneath her foot or in the wide palm of her hand. And they had a penchant for doing so if an unlucky miner dug too deep and too greedily.

The Goblin Wars that had ravaged the mountain kingdoms of the North centuries ago were still a cautionary tale that were often discussed between the Kings and Princes and Lords of the south (where they were far from the chilling reach in warmer climes). Tactics for facing a goblin adversary were still taught to and practiced by knights of the realm, no matter their location. And everyone walked a little softer upon the ground following such conversations, for whilst the wars themselves were long since passed, the incident of King Peter and his daughter, the crowned Princess Irene, was not.

Graham, not being a knight himself, had never been instructed in anything to do with goblins before, apart from what hearsay he had picked up in the taverns and market places. His life had been lived amidst the trees, where the roots had penetrated the ground so deeply that they were like a web, vast and far reaching so that nothing, not even goblins, could have burrowed their way anything less than eight leagues beneath them. He knew enough about goblins though to know to leave them well alone. To keep silent and hidden until they moved on. Perhaps if he could just wait until they settled down to sleep (as they did during daylight hours)…

The small groups drew to a halt upon the bank in front of Graham's hollow tree. Five of them in all, dressed in black leather trousers, greaves and gauntlets only. One of them snarled (a slightly more wiry looking male who had braided his hair and tied chicken bones at the ends like beads. The leader of the band then.) and shoved his nearest comrade roughly, gesturing to the large, moving sack that they carried with them.

Goblish was not a language that Graham had been very familiar with (though by all accounts it was similar to native Trollish and he'd known enough of that to get by in the Enchanted Forest before the curse). But this groups seemed confident enough that there were no listening ears nearby to drift in and out of conversation in the Common Tongue. He strained to listen.

"Make sure its tied up tightly this time. I don't want another detour running after it. Cost us three bleedin' days to catch it again."

The other goblin male (for the other three looked to be female) pulled himself back to his feet and lumbered over to where the sack had been left slumped at the base of a tree, nestled and curled between the roots. He muttered beneath his breath, shooting a murderous glare back over his shoulder, but the leader was squabbling with the women, his attention set upon the flagon of what Graham assumed was lamb's or deer's blood (a favoured drink of the species) from the colour of it smeared across their chins and faces.

"Bloody stupid kid." The lower ranking male grumbled a little louder as he stooped. His movements were jerking and furious as he untied the rope about the sack's mouth and reached in, fisting his hand inside it and drawing out the limp form that had been trapped within.

The child could've been no more than Henry's age, nine or ten. She was smaller than Henry though, thinner, paler, colder. Gagged and bound. Prisoner. Her eyes were wide as lamps as she looked up into the face of her captor, fear filled and yet resigned in that same instance, but he only sneered and shoved her face away from him, barked for her to stand if she knew what was good for her.

So. That was their reason for talking in the Common Tongue. So that she might hear. So that she would be frightened.

As Sheriff, Graham had come to the rescue of many children on countless other occasions. Kids who got lost. Kids who ran away from home. Kids who got stuck up trees or on rooftops. Kids who couldn't swim and got caught in the current of the river. And though their reason for rescue had been somewhat less serious than a marauding pack of goblins, that instinct, to save and protect, had Graham reaching to his hip for a gun that was no longer there. Had it not come through with him like his clothing had? Had he lost it in one the bogs that he'd tripped in? Little matter. He grit his teeth together as he continued to watch, the goblin tossing a rope up over a branch of the tree that they stood beneath and tied a noose about the girl's throat. She sniffed, winced as the rough twine caught her hair -muddy brown and clinging to face and cheek and neck- and scratched at her skin.

"Cheer up, Child." He sneered at her as he continued, tying her hands and then ankles and then finally a last rope about her waist that anchored her to the tree trunk. "Pretty soon we'll reach the castle and then you'll wish that you were back with us again. Just say the word and I'll eat you myself and save you from the-"

"Stop talking to it!" the goblin leader roared from the other side of their camp. The women have begun digging the shallow burrows that they slept in when above ground.

~oOo~

It felt like forever before morning began to dawn.

The goblins ate and laughed and toasted their great victories with their bloody drink and Graham could only remain where he was hidden, watching the child strung up like a puppet. She wavered upon her legs, knees threatening to buckle but she knew that she had to keep standing if she did not want to strangle herself. There was some fight in her yet then.

_Good girl,_ Graham thought at her. _Keep it up. Just a little bit longer…_

There were no birds that heralded the arrival of morning, but a quiet lightening to the gloom that served to eventually part the company of creatures and chased them down into their separate burrows for they did not care for sunlight much.

Graham waited another hour more before he dared move, just to be safe.

Treading carefully and wide of the campsite at first, he could already feel her eyes upon him. Even before he looked over at her, his palms held up in a gesture learned from his time as Sheriff; soothing, reassuring and above all showing her that he meant no harm, that he was there to help her.

She studied him warily however, eyes azure blue and eerily wide. Shivering a little, whether from the cold or fear, he did not know; probably both. And then she caught sight of the golden sheriff's badge pinned to his waistcoat above his heart and her brow smoothed with visible relief. Did she know him then? Had their paths crossed back in Storybrooke?

All questions that he could ask later, when they were both out of danger. For now, he needed to focus.

Painstakingly slowly he made his way across to her tree, pausing when a twig snapped beneath his toes or a snore sounded louder from inside a burrow. But he made it eventually, touching her lightly upon the shoulder with one hand in what he hoped she took for the reassurance it was, before he pressed a finger to his lips.

_Silence, you must be quiet._

She understood, nodded and held still as he gently pulled the gag from her mouth.

"Thank you," she mouthed silently.

"Keep watch." He responded, equally silent, pointing his two forefingers at his own eyes before jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

And she nodded again as he went to work trying to loosen the knots of her bindings.

~oOo~


	4. Chapter 3: Epitaphs and Epithets

**The Company of Wolves.**

**Chapter 3: Epitaphs and Epithets.**

She waited until the small crowd had dispersed, all gone back to either Granny's diner, where she had laid on a small lunch for anyone who had known Graham to attend if they wanted, or Regina's mayoral home, where she also had arranged a rather more grand dinner for the Sheriff's wake (though from Henry's earlier comments, the dinner was less to do with Graham himself and more to do with the task of filling the void that he had now left behind him).

Emma hadn't wanted to attend either; though she was expected at both.

The mayor's because, like it or not, she was now technically Sheriff herself, in the interim and by default and not for long of course. She was on the town payroll and that meant that her presence was required, even if only to fire her and pour a little more salt into the wounds of today.

It was just assumed that she would be at Granny's. Because she had been close to Graham, even to their eyes. 'A recently made but much cared for friend and work colleague,' the Father had commented in his speech that she'd listened to from the very back of the church, stood beside the door, ready to run.

_Friend her ass!_

They wanted her there to tell them that it was okay, that he was in a better place now and would never be forgotten. They would look to her to tell them that he would always be in their hearts…or something equally chick-flick-ish and saccharine.

No. That was too harsh of her and she felt immediately guilty. They had all cared for him like she had…

Perhaps she would go, later. To Granny's at least, for Mary-Margaret and Ruby and Henry if he managed the climb down from his bedroom window like he'd muttered he would when he thought she'd not been listening properly. But for the moment she remained standing, motionless and silent, brow drawn down and knotted into a frown, before the plain black granite headstone.

There were no dates. No record of his birthday, no date that his life was cut prematurely short. No loving son, no beloved brother. It read only his name, in silver gilt uppercase: 'Graham Humbert' underscored by a verse (or more a single line of one really) that told her: 'There is no instinct like that of the heart.' Somehow, someway the ordinarily deemed touching words felt like a barb. Like a joke at Graham's expense. Like a jibe meant to bait her specifically. It made Emma rub at her aching temple, eyes closing briefly against the pain there and sigh.

"A beautiful epitaph. Did you pick it?"

Shock jolted down her spine at the interruption, clear-voiced and with a distinctly well-spoken British accent. She glanced up, to the row of headstones behind Graham's. She'd been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she'd not even seen him arrive, had thought herself quite alone.

The question's speaker was turned away from her, clad in a thick, black peacoat that belted around the middle and was trimmed with dark fur at the collar which he'd pulled up tight about his neck and ears. His hair was cropped closely at the back and sides and left slightly longer on top, a coppery shade that shifted between dark blonde and auburn in the afternoon light. She would have to move if she wanted to see his face, but for the moment she stood her ground, reluctant to leave Graham's final resting place and slightly irritated that this man had interrupted her, disturbed her time with him, her goodbye.

"No, I didn't." she responded eventually, evenly, when her continued silence verged on becoming ignorance and therefore rude. Her frown was still present though, somewhat puzzled now as she studied the man's back. "The Mayor chose it."

"Ah, our illustrious Lady Mayor." The man nodded, as if those few words from her had told him everything he'd needed to know and it was exactly as he'd expected. It made Emma feel slightly uncomfortable. A little like her dealings with Mr. Gold. "I should have known." Reaching down he carefully laid a single white rose upon the base of the headstone that held his own attention, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing briefly across the name of 'Rosemary Lux' -the looping, curling script inlaid with gold- as he straightened again.

"Apologies." He spun upon the heel of his shiny black shoes and faced her, blue eyes sombre, though they creased at the corners hinting that he must have smiled and laughed a lot at some point in his life. Once upon a time. "I've disturbed your reflection." A slight incline of his head, a bow almost, and then he was making to walk between the headstones and past her, leaving her even more confused than she had been. "I'll take my leave."

"That's it?" Emma heard herself asking incredulously before she could think twice. She was upset and irritated and thus her tone was unchecked, sharp and accusatory. She didn't know this man. For all she did know he was probably just trying to be kind. Probably thought he was being nice offering a friendly word to someone who was grieving.

_Was it really so obvious that she was grieving?_

He paused in his steps when their shoulders were level and looked at her again with what she would later swear was amusement. It made her previous uncertainty return tenfold, but she'd said it now, better continue.

"I mean, you honestly expect me to believe that you went to all that effort to start a conversation with me just to find out who chose some fancy words on a grave stone?" she quirked an eyebrow and he did laugh then, white teeth flashing, even beneath dullness of an overcast sky.

"No. No, of course, you're quite right. Quite right." He chuckled and squared his shoulders to her as he spoke, covering his smile with leather-clad fingers before sobering somewhat. "The truth of the matter is that I've heard a lot about you, Miss Swan. I confess, when I saw that you'd lingered also once the service was over, I was curious to see if the rumours were true."

"And are they?" she countered, near demanded. Her own laugh was bitter, less amused than his, but then she'd been caught unawares, today of all days, when she had just wanted to be alone. She did not appreciate being laughed at, nor being the topic of conversation for strangers, but the man held up his hands, in surrender or defeat or both and she softened. Just slightly.

Instead of answering directly his lips curled into a gentler smile. He had the good grace to drop his gaze to the ground, however, tugging the glove from his right hand. He moved a few steps closer and offered it out to Emma to shake, perhaps a peace offering.

"I'm happy to meet you for myself, Miss Swan." He said instead. His palm was warm when she took it; she hadn't realised that the wind had gotten up and had chilled her so. "My name is Philip."

"Well, Philip, since you know my name already, you may as well drop the formality. Its just Emma. Only the Mayor calls me 'Miss Swan'."

_And you're not one of the Mayor's men, I hope._

"Emma," he echoed. And as if he had plucked her thoughts straight out of her own imaginings (or read them at least in dark green-blue of her eyes; her usual guard lowered today), Philip turned a little to his right and pointed past the sturdy structure of the church, back into the town centre.

"I own a restaurant in the town centre. The Briar Rose." His hand disappeared into one of his deep pocked and he drew out a small, black business card, offering it out to her. "Perhaps you might like to drop by sometimes. I'll save you a table. On me, of course."

"Seriously?" Emma snorted, suddenly and incredulously. Her voice crept up a notch even as she reach forward to accept the card. "You're hitting on me in a grave yard? After the funeral service of my-" that paused her and she searched for the correct word. What had Graham been to her? "-of the Sheriff…" Three kisses and a whole lot of repressed feelings did not make him her boyfriend, or whatever (wasn't she too old to have 'boyfriends' anymore?). Truth was they'd not been given the time to find out if he was her _anything_.

She had suspected though.

She had _hoped_…

"No." Philip stated simply and softly, allowing her time to consider, to remember, to drift off back into the bitter-sweetness of memory, something that he himself -from the looks of his knowing and suddenly heartbroken features- knew only too well. "I only thought you might want to talk about it…" She knew exactly what _'it'_ he was referring to. "…with someone who's going through the same thing. You look like you could use a friend."

Emma remained silent. Her chest tightened uncomfortably and suddenly it became hard to breath at being reminded that she was alone again now. The man who had served to distract her, for a little while at least, from this pain, this utter loss, inclined his head to her again.

"Think about it," he entreated. "Sometimes a tale's ending can be rewritten just by introducing a new character to the story."

"What?" she wrinkled her nose at his words. He reminded her of Henry suddenly and she studied him. To see if he knew something (what she wasn't quite sure) or if he was mocking her. Perhaps he was one of Regina's men after all.

His stare was even and steady, however, giving nothing away and eventually he turned to take his leave. Emma glanced down at his business card again, a fancy golden rose embossed upon the back and on the other side his name in the same looping script that had been used upon the headstone of the grave he had been visiting.

"Hey, I thought you said your name was Philip?" she called after him, frowning. "Says here you're mister…" she paused long enough to read the name again, just to make sure she got it right. "Stewart Phelps?" his surname made her lips thin with stifled amusement, but she couldn't quite keep her eyebrows from rising as she glanced back up at him.

Philip, or Stewart, for the briefest moment looked as if he'd been caught completely off guard, forgotten where he was and who he was with and had let slip something that he shouldn't have. His mouth parted slightly, searching for words and explanation as if he sought for some story or white lie to cover something up. It piqued Emma's curiosity, but eventually his composure returned along with his charming smile and he waved a carefully re-gloved hand; more a twitching of his two forefingers really.

"Forgive me." He replied, smoothly. His voice, whilst deeps, wasn't as deep as Graham's had been, but it held the same sort of juxtapositioning of authority and gentleness. A contradiction. "Philip is my middle name-"

"Stewart Philip _Phelps_? Man, were _your_ parents cruel!"

He met her interruption with another good-natured smile. "-it's also something of a nickname for me amongst my friends." Obviously he was a man who'd been mocked numerous times over the years for his unfortunate full name. And for a second time that afternoon, Emma felt guilty. She swiped it away as she did an unruly golden curl that persisted in falling into her view.

"I would regale you with the story of how I ended up being known as Philip to some people instead of Stewart, but alas, I'm needed elsewhere. Perhaps another time?"

"Sure, I guess." She pocketed his business card and turned back to Graham's headstone as he made his way over to his waiting car and driver, heels clicking out a steady rhythm against the flagstones of the pathway.

~oOo~


	5. Chapter 4: Hit and Run

A/N: Wow, firstly I want to say thank you to all of your for continuing to read and for leaving such wonderful, kind reviews! It means a lot to me that you're interested in seeing where this is going and it makes writing this so much more rewarding than just me writing it to get my theories out. Much love to you all!

Secondly, apologies for taking so long to update with a new chapter! Real life sucks sometimes and being back at work after such a wonderful long Christmas break hasn't helped. But even though I've not been updating, this fic hasn't been far from my mind and I've made some decisions about the path that the story will take. So I've not been completely idle! ;-)

Also, the Woodcutter that Harriet mentions in this chapter is not the same Woodcutter as the one in "True North". The Woodcutter I'll be introducing soon is linked to someone still in Storybrooke…I wonder if anyone can guess who… ^_^

JuliaAurelia - Thank you! I was hoping to get them across as I imagined them, since they're quite vivid in my imaginings. Yes, Philip is the Sleeping Beauty Prince. *grins* And her whereabouts will play a big part in his backstory. Hopefully, I'll do it some justice. Thank you again for reading!

Katididnot - Awwwww, thank you, lovely! Hope you like the next chapter too!

Londonluver - Thank you for reading and glad you find it interesting! I'll agree, it is a slow starter, but I wanted to lay some foundations for the characters (both canon and the new one's I'm starting to introduce) before throwing them into the thick of things. But things should be picking up soonish, I hope! Thanks again for your review and thank you for reading my oneshot too!

Stephanierb - Shucks, thank you for your kind review! I'm so so glad you think they're coming across in character! I spend a lot of time worrying about getting their voices right, so hopefully I can carry on doing that! Thank you for reading.

PhotoKitty - Thank you for reading! Hope you like the next chapter!

I.C.2014 - Alas, I think not! Regina likes to have the last word and I believe she would make sure to put her stamp on the last piece of Graham in Storybrooke so that when Emma goes to visit all she can see is what Regina put on that headstone. She strikes me as clever and vindictive like that. *grins* Hope you like the next chapter and thank you for reading and reviewing!

hecatemoondancer - Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the next chapter. There are more hints about the girl's identity coming soon, but her fairytale character isn't the only thing to be revealed about her. And there will also be explanations about why certain people did not get sent to Storybrooke with the curse in later chapters. Hope you enjoy reading!

SpaceRoses - Gosh, thank you so much for your review! I so glad you're enjoying this and still reading! It means so much that people are liking where I'm going (even if I've not got all that far yet *grins*). I'm really enjoying writing Graham, with his warring instincts from both worlds and his confusion and his trying to piece things together. As well as bringing in these new characters and linking in other fairytales, like Philip and the little girl (who incidentally we find out her fairytale character in this chapter, although her fairytale character isn't all there is to know about her…) among the others I have planned in both worlds! And I'm super happy that you're wanting to read more and you're far too kind! I hope I don't disappoint with this next chapter (and the one after which I'll have up tomorrow hopefully). Once again, thank you for your lovely long review and for reading!

FlowerChild13 - Thank you for reading and your kind review! I'm so glad that you think its coming across that way and you're liking the backstory (I did worry about taking too many liberties, but then thought, 'what the heck! Its fanfic!' and went with it.) Hope you enjoy the next chapter and thank you again!

**~oOo~**

**The Company of Wolves.**

**Chapter 4: Hit and Run **

Putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and the company of goblins -and doing so as fast as he possibly could- was Graham's only concern. All other questions suddenly faded into the background, waiting to be picked up again when they had time and the luxury of safety. If they ever would have such again.

_Get her out of danger first,_ Graham thought. _And then ask your questions._

The child's arms were like spindles, so fragile and thin that Graham thought that she might snap with any sort of pressure or too much jostling. How she had survived such rough treatment at the hands of the goblins was beyond him. But she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than he was giving her credit for. For she was the one who tugged on his hand, pulling him onwards in silent earnestness, telling him that they were not safe yet. Not by a long shot.

And so on they trudged, walking through the day and well into the night with not a word spoken between them. The goblins would know that she was gone by now. The alarm raised as the moon climbed high into the sky beyond the curtaining treetops and they woke from their earthy dens to find that their captive was gone again. They may even be tracking them right now since there'd been no time to cover their tracks or lay false ones. Graham had hoped that a day's head start might put them off from pursuing…but that all depended upon how important the child that they'd held as their prisoner actually was to them. And the fact that they'd chased her before did not bode well.

They stopped for the night only when they began stumbling with exhaustion, feet and knees numb with the cold and exertion (though he suspected that she could've carried on for longer). Graham searched for somewhere hidden, but it was his young companion who again tugged upon his hand and pointed up into the branches of a gnarled old oak tree, as wide as three of his arm spans stretched from fingertip to fingertip.

It made sense.

Goblins liked heights about as much as they liked the sunlight. And if they were still hot on their heels, at least being out of their reach would give Graham a small advantage if it came down to a fight.

And a small advantage was better than a non existent one.

"Wait here," Graham murmured. His voice was thick from lack of use and throat raw from ragged breathing; a hazard of their hectic, scrambling pace. He coughed to clear it further, before crouching down and placing a reassuring hand to the girl's shoulder. "Will you be alright for a moment?" his eyebrows quirked upwards in concern, brow wrinkling beneath icy, weather-dampened curls.

She nodded immediately in reply, swiping skinny, pale fingers at her own bedraggled hair where it half obscured her view, and Graham nodded too, before he rose once more to his full height and set about tackling the climb into the tree's upper branches.

Had he been warmer, or less exhausted or hungry, he might have made a better job of it. He slipped numerous times, feet scrabbling for purchase, and his knuckles and knees were bloody by the time he reached the safety of the first branch that was large enough to fully support his weight. He use to be such a good climber. After all, he had climbed in and out through the Mayor's bedroom window for years…

That sudden, unbidden remembrance made his stomach clench in on itself, filled with a leaden weight and, scowling now, welcoming the painful distraction as the unfamiliar bark bit into the flesh of his palms, he pushed onwards and upwards, seeking a higher place and wider branches, trying to force all such damaging memories from his head. Luckily there was not much more climbing required of him, a few more feet up and there was a splitting of the trunk at its very centre, where bows of branches split off and fanned out; each in their own direction and yet all reaching for the sky. It made for a secure nook, just wide enough that it would make do to cradle their combined weight and well hidden from prying eyes that may be searching for them from ground level.

Satisfied, Graham descended again slowly to the lower branches, offering a hand down towards his young companion who watched him with those wide, pale blue eyes.

"Here, child," he called down softly as he reached for her, gesturing for her to put her palm into his, outstretched. "I'll pull you up." Once again she didn't hesitate, so trusting was she.

Her hand was seemingly colder than his own. Fingers tiny and hard and white knuckled as they grasped his and he heaved her upwards with a grunt of effort, her feet scrabbling at the tree's massive trunk to speed her ascent. It was Graham's precarious balance that made the task a difficult one, for she was light as a feather, but even so she was up sitting beside him in no time at all, grinning from beneath the mud and dirt (now streaked; stripes of clean skin where snow and sleet had given way and turned into a bitter pelting rain that had trickled down their faces and partially removed the grime) and what he presumed were bruises.

"What's your name?" he queried as they shifted in tandem further up into the centre of the tree and he gestured, waited for her to settle down before he took his place leaning against the branch opposite hers.

"Which one?" her voice was high and small, betraying just how young she truly was, and yet she seemed amused, tone lilting very close to laughter.

Graham's responding frown was one of confusion. "I don't understand…"

She did laugh then; how she could be so cheerful after being captive to a band of the roughest goblins Graham had ever seen, while they were still in danger of being recaptured, while they might die out there in the frozen unfamiliar forests, he did not know. She reminded him of Henry suddenly, so optimistic in all his assessments, his opinions of people, his beliefs. Both a blessing and a curse. Both commendable and potentially foolish. But she was a child, all of 10 years old. He was not about to start making little girls cry…

"Do you want to know who I was in Storybrooke?" she clarified, drawing him back out of his own thoughts. "Or do you want to know my name here?"

"You were in Storybrooke too?" he countered her query with his own rather than answering it, the surprise at her revelation clear upon his features. How had she returned here from Storybrooke? The same way that he had? _Death?_ "Do you know why we're back here again? Is it something to do with the curse?" Graham paused, realised that he was bombarding her with questions that she may very well not know the answer to and she gave him a smaller, weary, somewhat knowing smile (her previous grin diminished). Suddenly she seemed far, far older than her years, as if she had seen things that no child should and perhaps she had…

"Everyone was supposed to be magicked to Storybrooke by the curse." She began, lowered her eyes and busied herself with tucking her hands into the tattered sleeves of her dress in a futile attempt to keep them warm. "There's only a few of us who are back here now. There's even some who didn't go to Storybrooke at all! My friends talk about it a lot when they think I'm asleep or can't hear them. The Woodcutter is one of the ones who never went to Storybrooke. He never got taken. The Shoemaker says that's because he must be someone's happy ending. Woodcutter says its because even the curse didn't want him…" her explanation trailed off for a moment, a pause filled only by the howl of the wind above the branches over their head.

Graham shifted into a more comfortable sitting position, tucked his own hands beneath his armpits to warm them from the bone-biting chill. "Where are these others? Your friends?" he asked, finally breaking the silence and drawing the child's eyes up from where she'd been studying a hole in the hem of her left sleeve.

"Hmmm?" she raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh." She abandoned her inspection of the material in favour of swiping at her hair again, rubbing the heel of her palm into a tired eye. Their journey was finally taking its toll on her now that they'd stopped and her eyelids drooped, heavy with sleep unslept. "When the goblins took me I was collecting firewood. It was my turn. I wanted to help out too. That was about three days ago. We've been walking every night since -except for when I escaped. I tried to run back but they caught up with me again. I couldn't remember the way. I only know we came from the West…"

"Then West we will go. We've walked for almost a day and a half now. Surely we are closer to your friends. We will find them."

She nodded, smile back upon her lips -albeit faint and weary- and another lull in their conversation fell between them, punctuated by a wide yawn that even her hand couldn't disguise. It made Graham yawn too in response, feeling the tiredness seeping deep into his own bones. He chuckled then slightly. He'd made many jokes back in Storybrooke about yawning being contagious.

"My name was Harriet Locksley in Storybrooke." The girl stated after a while, eyes closing for a blink so long extended that Graham thought she might have drifted off to sleep. She shifted, drawing her knees up beneath her chin and wrapped her arms about her legs. "I lived with my Uncle Patrick. He ran the grocery store on the corner of Main Street. I didn't have any parents in Storybrooke…"

Harriet Locksley…

Recognition clawed at the back of Graham's subconscious and it made him frown. He _knew_ that name. But how? He was uncertain. He blamed his failing memory on the cold, his exhaustion, on the shock of waking -suddenly alive again- back in the Enchanted Lands.

"That name is so familiar…" he murmured, squinting at her face as if he might suddenly find the answer written in her features. "Why is that name so familiar?"

"I was in an accident." She answered with a shrug, small and sombre. "The night the clock tower started working again. I remember standing in the street outside my Uncle's shop -he was locking up for the night- and I was looking up at it, the clock. It never worked in all my life! I remember thinking it must have been magic." Her speech faltered then, little voice catching in the back of her throat and she lowered her eyes back down to her fingers. She picked at the bark, scratched at it with a grubby nail. "Dr Whale tried to save me, he said it was a hit and run driver."

And just like that, recollection hit him just like that driver must have hit her -a ten year old girl waiting outside for her Uncle to lock up their shop, unsuspecting. Unknowing that the driver of the beat up Chevrolet that came speeding down the main street of the town had just split up with his girlfriend that night and had been drinking…

"Harriet," Graham breathed. "I'm sorry…" He remembered because he'd been the one to chase the guy down. He'd been the one who the guy had slurringly yelled at to 'leave him the hell alone! He'd not meant ot kill that kid. It was all his ex's stupid fault for dumping his ass!'. Graham had been the one who'd slapped the handcuffs on him after the man had attempted to assault a policy officer in the course of his capture...

The child painted a brave grin back onto her face, waved a hand in dismissal and smoothly changed the subject.

"You can call me by my real name if you like. I never really liked my Storybrooke name, it always felt…wrong, like it didn't fit." Sitting up straight she held out her palm for him to shake. "My name is Goldilocks, but the Woodcutter and Shoemaker call me Goldie for short. You can too!"

"I'm pleased to meet you, Goldie." Graham shook her hand with a smile of his own. "I was never given a name in this world. I was only even known as the Huntsman so I guess my Storybrooke name will have to do."

A wary light flitted briefly through the girl's eyes at mention of his previous occupation. Ah, so she'd heard about the Queen's pet Huntsman then…But her gaze flickered back down to his Sheriff's badge, still gleaming and gold beneath and between the mud spatters and dirt, and her trepidation seemed to fade back down again.

"You can call me Graham then, I suppose. It's the only name I've ever had to call my own. I think I'd like to hang on to it."

That drew a chuckle from Goldie's lips. "Okay, Graham." She responded, settled back against her branch with another yawn.

Tomorrow he needed to find them food and tomorrow night, better shelter. And then, then he would find her friends.

~oOo~

A/N: Once again, apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I've made notes about the next chapter and, everything willing, should have that up tomorrow or early next week. The next chapter is Emma and Storybrooke.


	6. Chapter 5: Take Me Out

A/N: As promised, the next chapter. Another slow one, I'm afraid, but I wanted to write this scene between Emma and Ruby. Hopefully, if you're still with me through all this build up, I'll get to the more fast-paced stuff soon.

As always, thank you all for continuing to read and hope you enjoy this little snippit of Storybrooke.

JuliaAuralia - Thank you for continuing to read and your lovely review, honey! :-) Some more will be revealed about Aurora shortly and about where she is. I hope you'll stick with me until then! Thanks again and hope you like the next chapter!

Ravenclaw992 - Oh gosh, a review for all chapters! Thank you so much and for the favourite. I'm super glad you're enjoy this so far, I'm very much enjoying writing it. You hit the nail on the head about the Woodcutter by the way. *grins* I love Ruby as a character and thought she deserved a happy ended too (even if he is in Fairytale Land) as well as it leaving me a great opportunity to explore the reasons that the curse didn't send everyone to Storybrooke. Thank you so much for reading and hope you like this chapter too. :-)**  
><strong>

**The Company of Wolves. **

**Chapter 5: Take Me Out  
><strong>

"GET! OUT!"

Emma's eyes went wide, sweeping upwards from her plate of food to where Ruby -all dark make-up and red-streaked hair- stood before her, grinning like a mad woman, her exclamation loud enough to startle the entire population of the small diner. People paused in their own hushed, sombre conversations, turned to glance at where the young woman had slammed down her serving tray (showering the bar top in food and drink heedlessly) and was now leaning forwards, towards Emma over the separating counter.

Some looked on disapprovingly, others shocked by her vocal outburst.

And Ruby's grandmother? Positively horrified!

"What…?" Emma mumbled, swallowing the mouthful of pumpkin pie that she had paused in chewing, her own voice thick with the food and muffled. She took a sip of her cocoa to wash it down, scalding her tongue in the process, eyebrows knotting into a frown as she winced.

Ruby was still staring at her by the time she'd finished, glancing back up at her again and so Emma repeated her question. "What? Did I do something wrong? Do I have cream on my face?" a quick flicker of fingertips up over her lips told her not. "What?"

And Ruby ignored her, bright red lips pulled wide in that grin that was _really_ not fitting for a wake. Her teeth flashed white from between the carefully painted on scarlet and instead of an explanation she placed her palms flat upon the countertop, supporting her own weight, and leaned further across towards Emma (flashing a suddenly very interested Dr. Whale a view of her very, _very _short shorts that matched exactly the shade of her lipstick. His eyes took on a wolfish gleam, but he glanced swiftly away when he felt Emma's disapproving stare fall upon him).

"Oh my ACTUAL God!" the younger woman reached out a hand towards Emma, snatched something from the top left pocket of her leather jacket, before she settled herself back upon her feet on the linoleum, rocking back on her heels (for once she was wearing flats, a pair of white sneakers that she'd taken a liking to ever since watching that episode of 'True Blood'). And Emma glanced down at the little black card cradled in Ruby's hands like it was made of gold.

In truth she'd almost forgotten that she'd had it after her arrival at Granny's. There had been that many people wanting to clasp her hand in theirs, telling her that they were 'sorry for her loss' (had her feelings for him really been that obvious?) she'd not had time to ponder over it, nor her graveyard conversation. It had all but disappeared from the forefront of her mind…

"I can't believe you actually got this! Seriously!" Ruby was shaking her head in almost awe, twisting the card over to study the golden rose emblem on its rear. "You know that book? The one about the chocolate factory?" she asked suddenly, and Emma blinked at the abrupt turn of conversation. It was only when Ruby looked back up at her expectantly that she realised that she was required to give her an answer.

"Errr…Willy Wonka…?"

"That one, yeah. Well this…" she flicked the card with a scarlet nail and then waved it in Emma's direction. "…this little piece of _black magic_ is just like that golden ticket!" she squealed in delight, staring down at it again intently, leaning a hip against the bar top. "The Briar Rose is only _the best_, most _exclusive_ restaurant in town. The whole of Maine even! No one gets reservations there -I know, I've tried _everything_- it's been booked up for forever. Its booked up for forever after _too_! Tell me, tell me you got a table there?"

Emma had to smother a smile at Ruby's expense, feigning nonchalance, a shrug winding its way down her arms from her shoulders as she leaned forwards, elbows propping her up.

"I got a table there," she teased, hastily following that admission with a correction upon seeing the unbridled glee lighting the other woman's face. "Well, technically I got an invitation for a table there. I'm not really sure its my thing though…"

"NO!" Ruby's volume levels were right back up nearing ear-splitting decibels again and this time as she leaned back across the counter, she seized Emma's hand (the one that had been lifting another bite of that pumpkin pie to her mouth) sending fork and food flying. She clenched it tightly in hers. "No no no no no no noooo! You _have_ to go! You _have_ to take that table for all of those people who've been trying to get one for years."

"Ruby, I-"

"Years!"

Emma opened her mouth one final time but Ruby looked severe and pointed at her with Philip's business card in her ungrasping hand.

"_Years!_"

"Okay, okay, alright! Chill out, seriously…" Emma agreed with a hiss, holding her palms up in surrender and sending a wary glance back over her shoulder at the other towns folk gathered there in the diner. "I'll go to the damn restaurant." Her agreement was more to keep the girl's voice down.

"It'll be good for you," Ruby continued earnestly, handing the hard back. She watched Emma tuck it back into the pocket of her leather jacket, lingering even as she tossed a tea-towel over her shoulder and picked her serving tray back up.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. I've agreed, no need to keep persuading me." Grey-green eyes narrowed suspiciously at the young brunette, and Ruby feigned innocence, a shrug of one shoulder.

"You could take Mary Margaret," she suggested, gesturing over to where the other brunette was talking quietly with Archie, trying not to send too many glances over in the direction of a certain Mr and Mrs Nolan. "To help get her mind off things…?"

"Maybe." Emma sighed, pushing away the remains of her pumpkin pie that she was obviously destined never to finish and settled back in her seat. She knew exactly what Ruby was fishing for, knew exactly what the girl was hoping (and desperately so) that Emma would say next.

And so she chuckled, relinquished her teasing like she had her food.

"And maybe I could take _you_ along too. Seems you know a lot about this place, I'll need you along to tell me which fork to eat with first." She'd never really had friends, especially not female friends at that. She'd never stayed in a place long enough for anyone to stick with her. But here, these people? Something made her want to get to know them. Something made her want to _have_ them as her friends, just as she had wanted Graham to be something more (privately and no matter how hard she told herself that she didn't). She'd never had that before…

And she wasn't going to lie. She needed a damn good drink to take her own mind of certain afore mentioned things.

"What the hell." She raised a hand only to let it slap back down onto the granite surface. "Lets make a night of it. Invite your friend Ashley too. God knows she'll want some 'me time' after nights of a screaming new born."

If Ruby's previous noises had been loud before, then this was verging on positively shrill. It set Emma's teeth on edge, made one eye squint closed in a wince, but she couldn't help smiling, laughing a little, as yet again Ruby stretched her lithe self over the counter between them, this time to hook an arm around Emma's neck and pull her forwards in her seat into a half-hug, half-strangle-hold.

~oOo~


End file.
